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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152669">Blasphemy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jabba_the_slut/pseuds/Jabba_the_slut'>Jabba_the_slut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The desecrated alter [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Demons, Gen, Horror, How Do I Tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:53:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jabba_the_slut/pseuds/Jabba_the_slut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a solo mission, Qui-Gon stumbles upon an orphaned Anakin. Convinced that the boy is the messiah the jedi have been looking for he brings the boy back to the temple, only to realize too late that he may have been mistaken.</p><p> </p><p>This is a horror story, there will be content warnings as we go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Qui-Gon Jinn &amp; Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn &amp; Obi-Wan Kenobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The desecrated alter [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The child</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The jedi are monks in this au, and it doesn't take place in space. Also sith are demons that the jedi knights occasional have to exorcise. </p><p> </p><p>This chapter is just the beginning so there aren't any warnings for this one, I hope you enjoy it :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anakin Skywalker was unusual. It was a fact that Qui- Gon refused to accept. A fact that he had known from the moment he met young Ani. When he found a recently orphaned Anakin he knew the truth. That Anakin Skywalker was a gift from the force. </p><p>Qui-Gon had been on his way back to the temple when he was pickpocketed. He had nothing but a few credits, so the loss of credits wasn’t a problem. The problem was the child who had stolen his credits was sloppy, very sloppy. A sloppiness that could get him killed. “Hey,” grabbing the child’s arm, “what do you think you’re doing?”<br/>
The child glared up at him, struggling in his grip. “Let me GO,” he wailed.</p><p>Tears had begun to sprung in the child’s eyes. Qui-Gon, while feeling pity for the boy, was concerned that if he let go the boy would run off. That was something he could not allow to happen. Qui-Gon realized that they were beginning to receive looks, as the child squirmed and cried. He quickly knelt down, to try and appear less threatening. “Shh,  it’s okay, I’m not mad,” he lifted his free hand to make a shushing motion, “I just want you to know that you need to be careful, many people wouldn’t take too kindly to being robbed.”</p><p>At this the child just owlishly blinked at him, tears still in his eyes. Pleased with himself for managing to calm down the child Qui-Gon almost missed his next words. “Will you help me?”</p><p>Inwardly sighing at having to ruin a most likely orphaned child’s day he prepared to deliver the news that he in fact cannot help him, not in any long term meaningful way. As he opened his mouth to speak light came shining down, the clouds had parted for one beam of sunlight to shine onto the child’s head. In that moment Qui-Gon saw the child’s force signature, something that happened rarely, and only to those most intune with the force could catch a glimpse of the alternate view of the world. The sun that was this small child dimmed so that he could see the child’s face, and the airy halo that seemed to float above his head. He had found the chosen one, the messiah, a feat that the jedi had long since given up on. And by some feat he had just happened to stumble across the very thing that the jedi of old had searched for. </p><p>There was no way in the sith hells was he leaving this child to suffer on the street. Oh, by the force how does one convince a child that you’re not a predator and are in fact a simple monk who might think that you’re the messiah. Yes, good job Qui-Gon, that’ll help you gain his trust, NOT. Licking his lips to try to overcome his suddenly parched mouth Qui-Gon tried to remember what the child had last said. Remembering, Qui-Gon started, “Yes, I will help you. What is your name, child?” </p><p>“Anakin”</p><p>What a wonderful name. Perfect and divine. Hastily, Qui-Gon knew his time was short, as any moment now the child, no Anakin would realize that he was no longer being held and flee the scene. Qui-Gon began by explaining how he was a jedi, a monk, a knight against the demons of the world, the sith. That the jedi would provide for him, that it was a family of sorts. Anakin seemed to have relaxed, no longer tugging and squirming but listening to what Qui-Gon was saying. Qui-Gon, after realizing this let go of Anakin’s hand, and instead just told the boy the information with calm measured breaths, no longer rushing. When Anakin was asked if he’d like to come with Qui-Gon, he simply said yes, and put his arms up so that he may be carried. ‘It’s a good thing that I’m not a person with ill intent,’ Qui-Gon thought to himself. Yes, it was good indeed, lest the messiah get carried off by a human trafficking ring. </p><p>The walk back to the temple was a long journey, while the temple wasn’t too far it was mostly uphill, and Qui-Gon had a child on his shoulders, a malnourished child, but still a decent sized child. Then there was the fact that it was cold outside, the leaves had fallen, and they were going to be expecting their first snow soon. Nothing quite saps the strength like the cold. When the temple came into view Qui-Gon couldn’t help but sigh, happy to be home at last. Now, he just needed to convince the council that Anakin was the messiah, and that he would be taking the boy as his padawan. Eager to get this over with, Qui-Gon headed straight to the council room. The council had been expecting his return, so they were already in the room and had had a meeting before then. When he was called to enter he eagerly stepped forward, and had Anakin walk ahead of him. Confusion colored the council members’ faces, why was there a small child? What had Qui-Gon done now? </p><p>Wasting no time, Qui-Gon hurried to tell them how he came upon young Anakin, and what he had seen before he turned the boy away. Many of them looked at Qui-Gon skeptically, seeing a force signature was rare, and Qui-Gon was known to do foolish things. But Yoda decided they needed to question the child, to make sure Qui-Gon hadn’t kidnapped a random child from off the street. </p><p>From their questioning they found that the boy had been on the streets for about six months now, that he had recently turned ten, and that he had come willingly. The council was displeased that the boy was so old, ten was a tricky age to try and change certain behaviors. After much debate, they decided that yes, they would give the child a shot. Needing to know if the boy had any forms of earthly attachments, they asked about his mother. Anakin seemed to deflate at this question, his shoulders slumping and his eyes lowered to stare at the floor. Apparently the boy’s mother had died in a house fire, a fire that killed everyone in the apartment building, only Anakin survived. This fact pleased the council, they felt sympathy for the boy and his loss, but glad to see that he did not appear to have any attachments, it would make the transition easier for him. The final verdict was reached quickly after that, the boy would be allowed to stay, and would be trained as a jedi.</p><p>Qui-Gon wanting to strike while the iron was hot mentioned that he wanted to train the boy. At this Master Yoda’s eyebrows attempted to leave his face. “A padawan you already have.”</p><p>“Yes, but-”</p><p>“Care for your reasoning I do not. Abandon your padawan I will not allow you to.”</p><p>Qui-Gon proceeded to try and interject while Yoda took a deep breath, to tear a new one into Qui-Gon, when Anakin promptly fainted. This effectively halted any further discussion, as they rushed to see what had caused the child to faint. </p><p>Anakin had passed out from a combination of having not eaten all day, and dehydration. Master Yoda, no longer concerned about the child fainting, as he was receiving proper care in the halls of healing, turned to try and talk sense into Qui-Gon once more. Qui-Gon hesitated to face Master yoda, they were only a few feet away from Anakin, and he didn’t want the boy to overhear and worry. “Train him you cannot, know this you do,” Yoda didn’t bother to beat around the bush.</p><p>“Master Yoda, I must train him, it’s the will of the living force. Why else would I stumble upon him,” Qui-Gon said, finally glancing down at Yoda.</p><p>Yoda glared up at him, his face reading of disappointment. “And become of young Obi-Wan, what will?”</p><p>“Obi-Wan is almost twenty, he’s ready for the trials.”</p><p>“Discussed this with no one you have. Talked with him, have you? ”</p><p>“I have mentioned that he would soon be ready to take the final step…”</p><p>While Qui-Gon wasn’t lying per say, he had told Obi-Wan that he would soon be ready to take the trials, but he had mentioned it not long ago, and the conversation was more about how Obi-Wan would be knight in the next year or two. Yoda, as though he could see the bullshit, glared at Qui-Gon, angrily tapping the glimmer stick on the ground. Sensing this conversation was going nowhere, Yoda shook his head and said, “failed him you have. Trained him you should not have then, if to throw him away, when found something better.”</p><p>Qui-Gon felt shameful, yes what he was doing to Obi-wan wasn’t the most fair thing he could have done, but who would train the messiah if not him? It rested on his shoulders alone, he had to train the boy, so that the sith would never rise again. He had to, or force help them all. Pausing his train of thought, Qui-Gon saw that Anakin had fallen asleep once more. Oh well, he should sit down anyways. Pulling up a chair so that he may rest by his bedside, Qui-Gon settled down, letting his thoughts wander. Slowly the warm blanket of sleep fell across his eyes, the weight of them increasing ten fold.</p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Mas, mast, master. Hmm, why was Qui-Gon thinking that? He was asleep, oh, someone was shaking his shoulder, it sounded like Obi-Wan. Slowly lifting his head, Qui-Gon began to lazily open his eyes, the dregs of sleep still pulling at his eyelids. “Wha is it?” Qui-Gon yawned.</p><p>“ I didn’t hear you were back till an hour ago, I was looking all over for you,” Obi-Wan said, his eyebrows furrowing together.</p><p>“Oh, sorry padawan, I should have checked in with you earlier.”</p><p>“It’s okay master, I just was concerned. So, who is this,” he gestured at Anakin.</p><p>Qui-Gon looked at his sleeping face, he knew what he must tell Obi-Wan. It would be best if they moved further away before having this conversation, lest they wake Anakin up. Standing up, Qui-Gon gently grabbed Obi-Wan’s arm, and led him to stand a few feet away from where Anakin lay sleeping. “ I have much explaining to do. The short answer is that he is the messiah that we’ve been looking for.”</p><p>Obi-Wan frowned at that, his reaction the opposite of what Qui-Gon had been hoping for. “Are you certain,” Obi-Wan questioned, “that is quite the title to burden a young child with.”</p><p>“Of course I am certain. You should trust me”</p><p>“Sorry master, I shouldn’t question your judgement.”</p><p>Relaxing, now that he knew his padawan was not going to question his judgement further, Qui-Gon prepared to break the bad news. “Padawan, there is something I must tell you.”</p><p>At this Obi-Wan’s head snapped up, so that he may look at Qui-Gon’s face with concern. “What is it?”</p><p>“ Anakin,” Qui-Gon gestured toward where the boy lay ‘sleeping’, “he will need a teacher. He needs someone to train him, he needs me.”</p><p>Seeing Obi-wan’s confused face, Qui-Gon hurried to finish his sentence. “I must train the boy. You are ready to be knighted, and the force has brought the boy to me. I cannot turn my back on the will of the force.”</p><p>Obi-Wan took a step back, his face crumpling, before he managed to smooth it over. Qui-Gon watched as his padawan took the news poorly, he had hoped that Obi-Wan would understand, and would see things the way he saw them. He felt slight remorse at cutting Obi-Wan loose earlier than he had originally planned, but the force had given him his calling, and who was he to ignore it? </p><p>While Qui-Gon mused to himself, Obi-Wan tried to gather the words to describe what he was feeling. “Why,” it was the only word to come out of his mouth.</p><p>“I already told you why. I would be a fool to ignore the will of the force. You will make a wonderful jedi.”</p><p>The final statement left no room for debate, Qui-Gon was tired of having to explain himself, especially to his padawan, who should trust his judgement. Qui-Gon took a step back, and let out a sigh, he was tired and hungry. “I am going to go eat, goodnight padawan,” he turned and proceeded to leave the halls of healing.</p><p>Obi-Wan will see things the way he sees them in time. This would be just a temporary pain, it was for the best. Qui-Gon was doing what was best for everyone, for the world.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Agony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is where the body horror begins, fyi. Please be careful, it can be triggering and gross. Everything after the first ellipses is going to be the horror section.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Mentions of self cannabalism, gore involving teeth, and mentions of starvation</p><p> </p><p>That should be it, if I have missed something, please don't hesitate to tell me</p><p>Happy Halloween :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anakin was an amazing student. He was inquisitive, intelligent, and kind. He hung on to Qui-Gon’s every word, and followed his instructions to a tee. He was perfect. To Qui-Gon this was but an added bonus, for he saw the hidden miracles Anakin could perform. There were countless minor miracles that attested to Anakin’s divinity status, but there was one instance which Qui-Gon took as a sign from the force itself that Anakin was the messiah they had been waiting for. </p><p>The sign came on a bright and cheerful morning. Anakin was on courtyard duty, and Qui-Gon had walked past, by a stroke of luck. The birds that resided in the courtyard were happy to chirp at and flutter around Anakin as he swept up leaves. Turning towards the apple tree, Anakin happily muttered to himself about nonsensical things. Hidden under the tree was a dead bird, killed by something larger, and left to die slowly in the shade. Seeing the bird, Anakin knelt down to cradle its tiny body. The loss of a life was never easy on a jedi. Preparing to intervene, Qui-Gon moved towards the archway that led to the courtyard. Cupping the small bird in his hands Anakin bowed his head and muttered a small prayer. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to call out to his padawan when Anakin opened his hands and the bird hopped out. Surprised Qui-Gon took a step back, hiding once more under the roof of the walkway. </p><p>When a person looks for signs, it becomes all they can see. Qui-Gon was looking for signs. He saw them in the way that nature seemed to flourish around Anakin, the animals loved and followed him, the plants perked up when he drew near, and how the vegetables grew to ripeness, no longer withering before they could bloom. It was the way that Anakin seemed to understand the sacred texts, the old language flowing naturally from his mouth. The inhuman way in which Anakin moved at times, his eyes reflecting light in the dark. And in the archives, as the light shone through the window, Qui-Gon swore he saw a halo grace his padawan’s head. These were the signs given to him from the living force.</p><p>Red flags are hard to see through rose colored lenses. Qui-Gon didn’t find it unnerving that his padawan at times seemed to know and comprehend things that no child should. He wasn’t put off by Anakin muttering in his sleep, it didn’t matter that it sounded like the forgotten sith language. If he felt eyes following him from the dark, it was of little concern, he’d carry on as per usual. The whispers in the dead of night, hands snatching at his legs from under his bed,  the nightmares that left scratches when he woke, these were all just figments of his imagination. It didn’t matter, because Qui-Gon knew the truth, and he could not be persuaded otherwise. But things tend to go wrong, and suspicions add up.</p><p>	It was a subtle shift. What Qui-Gon once saw as endearing was concerning, where there once was an innocent smile he now only saw the lazy grin of a cat toying with it’s prey, small miracles now were an unnatural and unholy occurrence, and most importantly was that when the light shined he still swore he saw a halo, but alongside it he saw the horns that should not be. It was as though the veil that had covered Qui-Gon’s eyes had been ripped off. He saw the whole picture, the birds in which Anakin would bring back to life had first been killed by his hand. The eyes that he would feel following him from the shadows now had a face. A name. T’was a child, one who he had invited into the most holy of places, one that would surely be stained by his hand. </p><p>	Qui-Gon told no one of his suspicions, he barely dare admit it to himself. He decided that not only would he tell no one of what he knew, but he would continue to train Anakin all the same. So things began to carry on as per usual. The only difference was that he no longer wilfully ignored the whispers that Anakin communed with, nor the flickers of yellow found in his eyes.  The only place where the truth was bared was in his journal, hidden away from prying eyes. The truth that while Anakin Skywalker was a gift from the force, it was not the light which birthed him but rather the dark. </p><p>                                                                                                           	…</p><p> </p><p>	Qui-Gon was a man of habit, he rose with the sun each morning, and carried on with the same duties almost everyday. His favorite part of the day was when he would head to the bell tower and feed the birds that resided there. As he was a tall man, who was healthy and blessed by the force, he could make it up the winding stairs in approximately eight minutes. Qui-Gon preferred to take his time up the stairs, pausing to occasionally peer out the window. The journey was just as important as actually feeding the birds. </p><p>It had been a year since he took Anakin on as a padawan, and Qui-Gon was still carrying on as per usual. Today was but another simple day. This meant that he would be climbing up the stairs to the bell tower. Halfway up Qui-Gon stopped to gaze out the window, and exhaled a shaky breath. The bright orange and red colors of the leaves momentarily distracting him. It was getting colder out, soon he’d have to don warmer clothing, and prepare a lighter bag of feed for the birds. Gathering his strength once more Qui-Gon resumed his trek up the narrow staircase. He could almost hear the creaking of his knees, his bones grinding against each other, as he tried to finish the second half of the journey up. A sharp stabbing pain had begun to make its home around his right set of ribs. The pointed needles stabbed deeper every time he took a breath. His chest was turning into lead, the heavy pressure causing him to swallow large gulps of air, even though he knew he needed to slow his breathing down before continuing. By the time he had reached the top he was tired, his shoulders weighed down, and his legs burning. Perhaps he had not slept well, or maybe he caught a cold, or perhaps he was aging. Though if it was just the normal flow of time taking its toll on his body he would have expected that he would still have more time. Not to mention it wouldn’t have been so sudden. Qui-Gon simply shook his head and sat down, not wanting to worry about making it back down the stairs.</p><p>The experiences of that day became his new routine, a routine that slowly became a dreaded task. Everyday Qui-Gon would struggle up the stairs, then after many breaks on the way up, he would sit down and feed the birds whilst sitting. In order to get back down he would take his time, holding onto the handrail, but when even that proved too much he scooted down the stairs, lest he fall down the stairs and badly injure himself. Eventually he couldn’t get past the halfway point standing up, he had begun to desperately claw his way up the stairs, crawling slowly, yet he still would find it hard to breathe once he made it to the top. Come the day in which the leaves had long since fallen and snow covered the ground with a solid inch, he would no longer try to climb up the bell tower.</p><p>That was not the only change that occurred that autumn. As the leaves dropped, so did his weight. His clothes that once fit him perfectly now hung as oversized drapes. He began to be able to count his ribs, something Qui-Gon had never worried about before in his life. His hands were now thin and boney, each knuckle protruding, and the veins raised. Concerned about him, his fellow jedi would try and feed him foods that would help him gain back the weight that he had lost. The issue was that he could not keep it down, the moment it hit his stomach it was coming back out. Though there were days in which he was so hungry, he would eat, and eat, and eat, his stomach endless, but yet he would never be full.</p><p> On those days Qui-Gon would go to bed so hungry that he craved anything he could find. As he began to lose strength he could no longer make his way to the kitchen, to satisfy his hunger. No, instead he lay there starving and grinding his teeth. Nothing could satisfy him, and he could think of nothing but his unending hunger. It was one of those nights when Qui-Gon finally had the strength to get out of his bed. Shuffling towards the kitchen, Qui-Gon planned to grab a crust of bread, and maybe a hunk of cheese, nothing too fancy. Walking down the hallway he couldn’t help but notice that there was light spilling out from a doorway. As he passed said doorway he allowed himself to peek in. Inside there were rows of long tables, food piled high on each one. The room was bathed in a warm glow , with candelabras on each table, wax dripping onto the dark wood surfaces. Qui-Gon couldn’t help the drool that was beginning to drip out of the corner of his mouth. He was so hungry, if he wasn’t allowed to eat it they wouldn’t have left it here with no one to guard it. Yes, this belonged to him. He entered the room, the door swinging shut behind him. </p><p>A banquet of food, his for the taking but, a voice warned him, he must be willing to pay the cost. Ravenous, he gladly began to dig in, no matter the cost. This was everything I could ever want, he thought. Giddy with excitement he happily tore into a pear, the skin soft, and the flesh inside sweet and juicy. “Here,” said the voice, “have some soup, it’s delicious.”</p><p>Licking off the sweet juice from his fingers, Qui-Gon turned towards the soup, the pear juice dripping from his beard. As he gazed at the soup he began to be entranced by blazing red tomato soup. The alluring siren’s call, the sweet tomatoes, and the slight grit left on his tongue after taking a hearty gulp. Drinking down the hot soup, sweet and tangy; as a drowning man greedily drinks in air. Qui-Gon drank down every last drop, feeling remorseful when he realized that in his frenzy he forgot to savor the heavenly ambrosia. Putting down the empty bowl he realized that there were still many other soups to be had. He paid no mind to the soup staining his front, the red spilling from his mouth to his chest. </p><p>The next soup to be had was clam chowder. Peering at it’s creamy white color he felt a vague sense of unease. Why would he feel uneasy? This place was wonderful, every food eaten was better than the last. He was safe here. He never wanted to leave. Remembering that he loved it here, he picked up the bowl. Bringing the soup to his lips, he tasted the creamy texture of the chowder. The first clam chunk begging for entrance into his mouth. Its slimy texture caressing his lips as it made its way past his teeth. Biting into it, he pushed through the resistance that the rubbery texture gave. It was good, but not enough. Qui-Gon quickly swallowed the now chewed clam and decided that he would prefer to eat something else. "Ah," said the voice disappointed,"I see you want something else. It's a shame, I was hoping you'd enjoy that one."</p><p>Qui-Gon hungry for more paid no mind to the voice. He wanted something else, a different texture, a different flavor. There! Saltine crackers, the perfect closure to the soup table. Ripping open the tight packaging just enough to get his first bite, he sighed with relief. Attempting to get to his second bite he found resistance from the plastic confines. Aggravated he madly ripped through it just so that he could shove the rest of the cracker into his mouth. Pleased with himself, Qui-Gon proceeded to find something else, something to help fill the gaping hole inside him.</p><p> Ah, fruit. In remembrance of the pear he went searching on the grand table for fruits. His eyes scanning over the piles of food, past the thinly sliced roast beef he found the most delicious peach he had ever seen. Excited by his find he picked up the wrinkly peach, its skin thin and hairy. Inhaling deeply as he brought the peach to his lips, he took his first bite. The thin fuzzy skin gave way to the tender fleshy insides. The sweet intoxicating juices spill down his throat,and out his mouth. Attempting to lap the juice up before it was completely lost to his beard and clothes he sucked as much of the liquid down as possible. He could help but feel pleased by the first bite. Satisfaction curling low in his gut. Bringing his lips back to the peach he took another bite. Fleshy meat slid into his mouth. The sugary innards breaking under his teeth. The silky texture of the peach could not be bested by any other fruit. Perfection at its finest. A wonderful experi- Crunch. A piece of the pit had clung to the flesh and now the cloud had dispersed. The pit seemed to grow in his mouth, no matter. He was determined to make his way through the pit so that he may once again bathe in its tender glory. Finishing the pit he prepared to once again tear into the sweet flesh. Biting through the skin he tore into the peach. The sweet, sticky goodness,the juice, the flesh, the iron taste. Wait, iron? Yes, iron, the metallic taste, the red, raw peach. The choking thickness sliding down his throat. Gagging him. The taste of metal, of pain, choking the air from his lungs. Gasping, and gagging. Each breath a struggle. The banquet table was filled with rotten meat. Blood flooded the floor, coming to his knees. Flies buzzed, going from carcass to carcass. His decomposing head lay on the table, maggots filled his gaping mouth, while his glassy eyes stared at him. He could feel the maggots move in his mouth, they were squirming. They were hungry. Qui-Gon could feel them begin to tear into his tongue, their first meal. They tore into his cheeks. Perhaps he was the decomposing head, and the head was standing there staring at him. Yes the head was holding a severed hand, it had been chewing into a hand. He watched as the head stared at him with terror in its eyes. The maggots chewed through the last layer, and then spilled from the head's cheek and landed on its shoulder. Ah, he thought to himself perhaps I am not the head on the table, as I can feel the maggots tearing out my cheeks. Qui-Gon looked at the peach, now a hand missing its thumb and part of its palm. Dropping the hand in surprise he turned his gaze back towards the head. It now had a worm pushing through the corner of the eye. Squeezing between where the eyeball met the skull, as though the worm was a tear trying to express the horrors the head had seen. As he stared at the head and its worm, hands began to creep from the murky blood. The skeletal hands grabbing onto him. Startled Qui gon tried to move. He willed his arms to work, for his legs to run but it was not to be. Perhaps this was punishment for discarding the hand so thoughtlessly. </p><p>The hands latched onto him, dragging him down, maggots and all. As his head began to slip under the blood he gasped, letting it once more clog his throat and stop the precious oxygen that belonged. Choking, Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Surrounding him were his fellow jedi masters. Windu and Plo holding his arms down, while master Yoda hovered over his face. Their mouths were moving but he could not hear them. </p><p>Becoming aware of his surroundings Qui-Gon couldn't help but notice the red that covered him. 'Could it be the soup?' he puzzled. No, it could not. It was blood. Acknowledging the blood meant to realize the source, and with it, pain. His face hurt. He was on fire. His hand screamed in agony, but its voice was overshadowed by the symphony of wails that was the pain in his face. A scream joined the cries, gruttal and animalistic it tore through the song of the others. It was the sound of a wounded animal. Qui-Gon distantly felt himself wonder where that particular cry was coming from. Was his cheeks screaming from the maggots, was it his stomach from the "food" in which he had consumed, or perhaps it was something else? Ah, that's right, it's me.</p><p> …</p><p>The damage was done. Qui-Gon had chewed off most of his bottom lip, the tip of his tongue, and his left hand had no thumb,with a bite out of the palm. He had lost so much blood that the healers had worried that he would not survive the night. The inside of his mouth was comprised of scar tissue from him chewing his cheeks. Somedays Qui-Gon wished he had died that night. </p><p>He continued to lose weight. He could barely handle eating, even when he was ravenous. His hair became brittle, breaking off, and falling out. He was bed ridden. His only joy being when he could write in his journal. </p><p>The adults of the temple strived to keep Anakin from seeing him, as his look was horrifying to even the most brave. But Anakin had always been resourceful. He snuck in to visit Qui-Gon in the dead of night, a picture of childish innocence. He brought him books, to help him pass the time. Qui-Gon alone knew what lay in those books. That they were depressing, and heavy. Something a child wouldn't pick out. A normal child that is. </p><p>Anakin would watch him when he thought Qui-Gon was asleep. He would watch him with visitors too. When questioned by Mace Windu about how if he knew what was causing this illness he told him he had no idea. For should he tell Windu, Anakin would target him next.</p><p>Qui gon knew that it was Anakin who was causing this because as he wasted away, Anakin grew, and glowed. He knew the visions of shadows creeping and mad dreams are not summoned from nothing. This meant that Anakin was aware that he knew his true nature. That the boy was a demon disguised as the messiah. </p><p>Occasionally his cast aside, former padawan came to visit him. Obi-Wan's heart being too big despite the pain Qui-Gon had dealt him. This was a fact that Qui-Gon was most thankful for, cause if not he would be left alone with barely any visitors. He already spent far too much time stuck in his own head, meaning that every moment spent with company was a blessing. Obi-Wan and him barely spoke to one another, Qui-Gon being in too much pain most days to make it worth the effort, and Obi-wan because he did not know what to say. </p><p>On one rare good day Qui-Gon stood in front of the bathroom mirror to take a proper look at himself. A task he had not done since the night in which he became a nine fingered man. His eyes briefly skimmed over the torn remains of his lip. Taking in the sunken eyes and waxy skin he decides to brush his hair. Lifting his comb to his head he slowly rakes the comb through. The soft brushing noise soothing him, despite the hair that kept falling out as he worked. Once satisfied with his hair he takes his toothbrush. Opening his mouth he realizes that his teeth are yellow, and his gums inflamed. Pressing a finger to his gums line he quickly hisses with pain. His gums throbbing. Touching his gums gently this time, he softly pokes at them to survey the worst of the damage. One of his teeth gives. It wiggles, the pain shooting through his mouth. Going to grab it so that he may see if it is too loose he pulls too hard and it falls out with a clink. Blood spilling in his mouth the familiar taste of iron, dripping into the sink. Tears sprang to his eyes, and a weight settled in his chest. He's dying. He has been repaid for his kindness with his death. He brought Anakin to the temple. He brought home his own fate. It wasn't fair. What had he done wrong? He served the force. He tried to be a good jedi, and he was dying. 'Well then, might as well see how else I'm falling apart,' it was the thought that one has before they lose what keeps them sane.</p><p>Plucking at each tooth to see if it would move, Qui-Gon just wanted it to be over. Desperately he grabbed at the next loose tooth pulling at it with as much give as it allowed, then he pulled some more. Pain erupting as he felt the flesh of his gums tear. It was putrid flesh that tore, the rot sunk all the way through. The soft squelching noise as blood spilled from the torn hole where the tooth had resided. Dropping it into the sink he moved onto his next target. Carelessly he tore through the rotten teeth, their gums peeling away from his skull. Pain shot up from his mouth to his brain, the tender wounds suffering infection already. Quickly he tore the teeth from his skull.</p><p> Tooth after tooth fell out of his mouth. The blood running rivers down his chin. It slipped down his throat, the sickly slide of it, familiar in the worst way. The taste of blood was now as familiar as his own name. Gapping in the mirror was his own distorted smile, large holes where his shiny teeth once stood, and a torn lip, the edges still red and throbbing. This was to be his life now, a new horror each day as he slowly falls apart. Something wet hit his cheek as he mourned the life he had taken for granted. It was a tear, he was crying. Tears running down his face as his skin turned splotchy from the violent sobs that were beginning to rip through his body. A combination of tears and blood spilled off his chin and into the sink with his teeth. Force, he really had been abandoned by the light; left to fester in the dark till there was nothing left. Sighing, he grabbed his toothbrush to clean the remaining teeth. </p><p>Gently, as to not further aggravate his gums he began to scrub each tooth. Every brush brought pain, but also satisfaction. When he spat out the toothpaste it came out red. Blood was still sluggishly dripping from the torn gums, and the toothpaste was not enough to dilute it. The mint stung his sensitive gums, especially the sections that were now toothless. Oh, well, it was just another day for Qui-Gon Jinn. With one last rinse, his mouth was clean, finishing what he came to do.</p><p> As he stood at the sink Qui-Gon realized he had no idea as to what he was going to do with his teeth. They had been rinsed clean as he rinsed his mouth from toothpaste. Seven, there were seven of them, seven precious teeth that he would surely miss. Turning the water back on he picked up the first tooth, it still had thin flesh attached to it, some of his gums coming out with the tooth. Gently with a manner that he should have taken when he first began to remove his teeth he scraped off the flesh, working from one tooth to another. With freshly cleaned teeth, (both in and out his head) he turned to mke his way back to the bed. Softly, as to not aggravate his aching body he took his first tentative steps. His knees creaked and shook, he had stood at the mirror for too long. His shoulders slumped as he shuffled to the bed, his back and hips beginning to lock. </p><p>Qui-Gon sighed with relief the moment he sat down, his knees wept with joy. Shifting so that he could pull his legs into bed, he prepared to go to sleep. Carefully he put in his mouth guard, so that he might save the rest of him from being eaten. Laying down with his blankets piled high he sent a quick prayer for a dreamless sleep. Gone were the days where he could pray for hours, just to meditate and feel the force around him. His faith had been slowly diminishing, for he knew that those that might smile upon him had long since abandoned him. Qui-Gon was utterly alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I originally planned to have posted the last chapter by today, BUT the plot got away from me.</p><p> </p><p>Thank you so much for reading, kudos and comments are always appreciated.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Qui-Gon's journey has finally come to its end.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: bug gore, eye gore, and death</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, this is the final chapter, and Qui-Gon is in a dark place so please tread carefully<br/>Hope y'all enjoy (*^▽^*)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sweet whispers of a quill on paper filled the tiny bedroom. The soft caress of candle light was all Qui-Gon had to help guide his hand. His journal, it’s what would remain after he finally perished, and inside the truth of Anakin Skywalker. It had become his most treasured possession. Each page written with care, and protected by the old leather that bound the book together. Carefully hidden after each use, it was something that was not meant to be read, or at least while Qui-Gon still lived.</p>
<p>Anakin knew of the journal, this was a fact that if Qui-Gon should know he might never sleep again. Anakin however, had no idea as to where he kept it, but it was a trivial matter in the grand scheme of things. A minor humanoid bump in the long run, just one more dead, no matter. Despite any regrets Anakin may or may not have had, he would carry on with what had to be done.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In, out, in, out. A wet rattling noise accompanied each breath that Qui-Gon took. In (rattle), out (cough), in (rattle), out ( more coughing). Qui-Gon was tired. Each breath hurt to take, his throat rubbed raw, and the air was far too crisp for the open sores in his throat, and his chest ached, the heavy weight that now shackled his limbs had moved to claim his chest as well. Everything took more energy than he currently had. His soft liquid diet couldn’t be kept down, his stomach clenching at the slightest drop of food. The constant vomiting had destroyed his throat. Water hurt to swallow, swallowing hurt, talking hurt, breathing hurt. Everything hurt. ‘Soon,’ he prayed, ‘let it be soon.’</p>
<p>His hair had begun to fall out in chunks, till there was little left. A ring of thin, brittle hair circled his head at his temples. It had once been long, and well groomed. Now all that was left was the mockery of a crown, broken, to laugh at his fall from grace some more. Brittle, everything about him felt and looked brittle and delicate. His nails broke from simple things, splitting down the middle. Numb, he gently tried to force the two halves together. His agitation was beginning to rise, why would this not work, for all that he had been through, why would something not work? What had he done? In anger he pulled at his finger, the nail slipped off the hand. The shining blood, the fresh layers of skin, yellowing with disease. White fungus had begun to grow under the now freed nail. The blood bubbled up at him. Its happy and carefree matter rubbed Qui-Gon the wrong way. Why was it happy? It was a NASTY FUngus blood bubble. Ahh, perhaps he was overthinking things. Blood dripped off his finger, a speck of white in the nailbed. It wiggled. Oh? A tiny cone shaped head poking up from his finger to stare at him. It was a maggot. A happy little maggot. Greedily it slurped down his blood. The rest of its body moved from inside his finger, the flesh raised slightly from its chubby body. Tearing into the exposed flesh it began to painfully pull itself from the finger. Munching through the tender wounds, freshly torn open, the maggot filled its tiny mouth. How beautiful. How horrifying. Oh yes, it’s not to be in awe from. It was a parasite. A greedy parasite, meant to slowly eat and kill its host. Qui-Gon was full of parasites now wasn’t he?</p>
<p>Yes, filled to the brim. A line of maggots down his finger and into his palm. An open sore lying on his left hand, at the end of his maggot train. The worm that had joined him while he slept lay quietly behind his left ear drum. It’s children squirmed behind his eyes, one day he might cry them out, squeezed from the warmth of his tear ducts. Or perhaps they could chew the delicious meat that kept his eyeball in its socket. Would the fly that had been circling land, or just enjoy the smell of decaying meat. Ahh, it landed on his eyeball.</p>
<p>He could feel all six of its legs as it stood there. It carefully lifted its front two legs to begging to wash. Each leg was an unscratchable itch. His eye burned, dry, yet moist enough that the fly’s little legs stuck to his scalera. The fly’s wings fluttered briefly, the wings taunting eyelashes. Gods above! He wanted to tear his eye out! To stuff his boney fingers into the narrow gaps of the socket, to tug, and tug till it all came out, to hold his eye, fly and all, and to squish it. To let it pop between his fingers, to feel the fly cry in agony as it drowned in the liquids of his eye. But before he could let his insanity take him one step further, the fly was gone.</p>
<p>Relief washed over Qui-Gon once more. The parasites that may or may not be there faded to the background. The instant high that came from the feeling of having a fly free eye calming him for a moment. Leaning back, so that he may sink further into the pillows, Qui-Gon began to wonder about what Anakin was doing at that moment. He rarely saw the boy anymore, while he dreaded seeing him, as he was the cause of his slow descent to madness, he still couldn't help but hope that his original perception of him was correct. Oh well, it doesn't matter, he'll sense the boy lurking over him at a later time. Perhaps he would write, hmm? It might do him some good, make him feel a bit better without worrying about the child and his declining health.</p>
<p>Sitting up, Qui-Gon reached for his journal, the movement causing his chest to ache, his collarbone pressing down on his lungs. After grabbing his journal he began to relax. A sharp stabbing pain attacked his lungs, each breath causing horrible pain. It made him breathe shallowly, not daring to breathe deeply, the lack of oxygen beginning to cause him to hyperventilate. He needed air, but to breathe hurt. The stabbing pain in his lungs, the rawness of his throat. He was drowning. His throat was beginning to feel as though it was closing. Soon he would run out of air, the shallow breaths not enough to fill his lungs, and his throat closing to restrict what little air he could get.</p>
<p>Panicking, Qui-Gon began to claw at his throat. He would drown, he would be drowning in the blood again. The hands would drag him under once more, he needed air! He can’t open his mouth, the blood would pour down his throat once more, the last remnants of air would leave his body. He must hold his breath, or the blood will burn his throat, what if there were maggots in the blood? Then they would finally eat him from the inside out. Eventually the oxygen had run low, and Qui-Gon gasped.</p>
<p>As his vision came back in spots, Qui-Gon realized that he wasn’t drowning in blood. Not only was he no longer drowning, but he could breath, his throat no longer closed. Perhaps it had all been in his head. The sharp stabbing pain was still there, but it could be worse. Yes, he was feeling decent, all things considered. With a sigh, Qui-Gon began to write in his journal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Qui-Gon’s days of feeling well enough to get out of the bed were becoming but a faint memory. Confined to a bed, he rarely had the strength to move, let alone sit up. Writing in his journal had become an impossible task, his arm grew tired of writing quickly, and he didn’t have the strength to hide his journal. Everyday he lay there in silence, trapped in his own head.</p>
<p>His end was coming soon, he knew it. The creatures that whispered in the corner told him as much. “Soon,” they taunted, “soon you will die, and then you can join us. We will welcome you into the dark.”</p>
<p>Qui-Gon did not wish to be a shadow, all they did was stare at people. They spend their time teasing dying men; that didn’t sound worthwhile. Perhaps he could be a bug, at least they got to eat. Yes, a bug sounded rather nice. His lips twitched at the thought. He could even eat his corpse. In fact, here he was. ‘Ah, I suppose I came back as a centipede,’ he frowned at that. He wanted to be a maggot, but fate was a cruel mistress, and the force had left him to wallow in the dark. Oh well, what could he do besides wait for bug Qui-Gon to eat him?</p>
<p>He felt the tiny feet scurry over his mustache, each little paddle like foot swiping across his face. Bug him proceeded to run upwards, pausing to stop at his right eye. He could feel the little antennas lightly brush his eyes. Bug him appeared to make up his mind, and softly took the first bite. Staying close to the tear duct, bug Qui-Gon began to dig in. Pain erupted from his eye, he could feel it pulsing in time with his heart. It burned, he couldn’t blink, he needed to blink, to expel the vermin from his eye. But his eyelid no longer worked, and instead fluttered uselessly. He wanted to cry. Blood spilled from a broken vein, it stung his delicate eyeball. His vision was clouding over, the deep red color lost in the dark of night. His eye twitched, glancing to the left, as though it would help his eye escape the centipede. The tiny arthropod, irritated, bit the flesh that bound his eye to its socket. Flames sparked back up in his eye, the poison in the centipede’s bite caused the flesh to writhe in agony, quickly turning a deeper shade of red. The centipede resumed its work and inhaled the meat. Tears could no longer try to force their way out his tear duct, as the creature had chewed part to that as well. Slowly, it squoze its way in the space of the socket. Alongside the burning there was now a pressure, the pressure that normally occurred when one was suffering from severe sinus issues.</p>
<p>With a wet squelch, the bug slithered fully in, no longer resting on his face. No, it was now inside his head. Is this how he would finally die? Because he came back as a centipede, and ate through his brain? It would be a most sad and pitiful death. But, to Qui-Gon’s surprise the bug began to move down, rather than upwards. Each little leg was a paddle to help push the creature forward. Its pincers carved out the hole in which it would squeeze its body through, pain blossomed with every bite. He had developed a headache from the arthropod moving behind his eye. Qui-Gon tried to suppress a sneeze; it had been tickling his sinuses the entire time. His right nostril felt clogged, it felt as though there was a hair stuck behind his throat. It wouldn’t?</p>
<p>It would, peeking out from his right nostril were its antennas. He could feel each leg brush past the tiny hairs in his nose, stuck in a permanent stage of needing to sneeze but nothing comes out. There was also blood, slowly dripping out his nose while the centipede finally began to exit his body. With a wet squelch, the centipede was free, and began to scurry off his face. Qui-Gon prayed that he wouldn’t be reincarnated as a centipede, they were disgusting creatures. He eventually passed out from the pain, and suffered from his routine nightmares of sith and the temple falling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His time was coming to an end. He could see it in his friends’ faces, the way their eyebrows would furrow and the fact that they could not look him in the eye. Obi-Wan had begun to visit him more often, stopping to read him stories, and talk to him about happenings in the temple. The shadows had gotten bolder, grabbing onto him and celebrating his weakening spirit. He had yet to be visited by Anakin, the adults of the temple shielding the children from his horrifying face. Perhaps it was for the best, for he did not know what he would do when he saw Anakin. The boy had sentenced him to death; this was a fact he was sure of. And a slow death at that, the majority of his injuries done by his own hand. Perhaps he would try and kill him.</p>
<p>Qui-Gon told no one of his thoughts of murder. To kill a child, eleven, soon to be twelve, would be immoral. But, Qui-Gon couldn’t help but think that he was doomed to suffer in Hell anyways, he might as well bring Anakin with him. The problem with this thinking was that if by some miracle he was wrong about the boy being the cause of this, he would surely suffer for murdering an innocent child. It was quite the dilemma. To be right would mean that he may save humanity as a whole from the child, but to be wrong would mean that he killed an innocent and would suffer in hell for an eternity.</p>
<p>For days Qui-Gon pondered, he lost track of reality, no longer responding to outside stimuli. After three days of silent thought he came to his final decision. While killing an innocent was in fact immoral, it would only condemn him, but if the child was in fact a demon, then he would condemn the world to a living hell. He would make the sacrifice. To cast aside his own purity, so that the world may continue to be clean of the sin the boy would drench it in. Yes, he would save them, he would be the martyr, the silent hero that they needed. Perhaps, by killing the demon spawn he may be allowed to peacefully pass into the force, rather than rot in the hells set aside for the sith. This was the only option, the only choice, the last good thing he would do. He was sure of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With all his planning, Qui-Gon still suffered. The boy had not visited him, and his time was drawing to an end. To let things end like this would mean that all of his pain had been for nought. He could no longer eat at all, and they thought his ribs might have punctured something. This meant that he was rapidly running out of time. His clock had begun to count down, waking up each morning was not a guarantee. He could have days left, or perhaps only hours, and the demon had not gathered the guts to speak to him in person. How dare he? After he saved him, and suffered for his amusement. No, the brat would leave him to die unsatisfied, unable to put an end to the suffering he had unknowingly started. Soon, he would lose the strength needed to kill him. He had to find a way to summon him.</p>
<p>The next day? Night? Two days? He no longer knew. The hours blurred into one long minute, each second worse than the last. But his pain mattered not, for Mace sat at his bedside this evening. “Where...is Anakin,” he rasped.</p>
<p>Mace looked at his face startled, not expecting for Qui-Gon to be conscious enough to speak. “The boy is currently in bed, it’s the middle of the night. Don’t worry my friend, he is doing okay, and is being well taken care of.”</p>
<p>Qui-Gon didn’t care about how the demon was doing, he needed to see him, and kill him. “ Can? Can I see him,” each word was hard to get out, a sharp pain stabbed his lungs with each breath.</p>
<p>“We decided that it would be best for the boy to stop visiting you, as he should remember you as the man you wer-are, the man you are, rather than seeing you in so much pain.”</p>
<p>While the thought was quite sweet, it did not help Qui-Gon. If it had been decided by the council, then it would be hard to sway their minds. It was hopeless, his life would be in vain. One's life being for nothing is a hard thought to swallow, like a large marble, slowly sliding down a dry throat. The thought slid down, leaving a leaden weight in his stomach. How could he find meaning in the end of his life, if he could not accomplish this final task? He didn’t ask for much, only a small mercy so that he may try to redeem himself.</p>
<p>Windu, seeing the grief on Qui-Gon’s face tried to alieve the pain by telling him that he would pass on any message to the boy. While normally this might help, it would do no good in this situation, as the boy needed to be killed, not given kind words. No one would understand, there was nothing left. His life was done.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Qui-Gon woke the next morning, drenched in sweat, and shivering from the cold. It was snowing peacefully outside, fluffy snowflakes passing by the window. He was not given enough time to appreciate the beauty of the morning before the shadows began to cackle once more. “Today,” it was the only thing said.</p>
<p>Oh, today. He would die today. How thoughtful of them to warn him before he went through his last day unknowingly. Well, this gave him time to finish anything that he might barely be able to do, and stew in his thoughts. Clawing his way into an upright position, his head pounding and his ribs throbbing, Qui-Gon grabbed his journal. With a shaking hand, he wrote a note to Obi-Wan:</p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Obi-Wan,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Today I will leave you with a heavy burden. You must take the child under your wing, and kill him. I know a year ago I told you he was the Messiah. I was wrong, horribly so. He is a demon, and the one who brought upon my death. I know I am asking much from you, but I have trained you well. Please, the future of the Temple and the realm as a whole depends on you vanquishing the demon.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Please forgive me,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Qui-Gon</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Folding the note, Qui-Gon fell back with a heavy sigh, his vision spotted from the exhaustion of sitting upright for so long. Yes, he had trained his former padawan well, he would do what is needed. The exhaustion eventually won, his eye grew heavy, its lid slipping low.</p>
<p>When he awoke once more it was night. He had slept his final day away, of course the force would not take pity on him and give him the strength to stay conscious during his final day. He lay there in silence, the force had no pity for him, would he even get to see his former padawan one last time? Or would this too be denied to him?</p>
<p>The door opened with a creak, perhaps the force was merciful after all. Desperate, Qui-gon turned towards the door, eager to see Obi-Wan one last time, the comfort of a familiar face would ease his passing. The figure in the doorway was in fact not his former padawan, but rather his current one. The one who had damned him to this hell, the one who took his kindness and spat in his face, the one who he had trusted to lead them towards the light. It was Anakin.</p>
<p>Qui-Gon’s body tensed, the demon had come to kill him himself! This would be his end! But, he could perhaps bring the child to hell with him, he finally had the chance to kill him. His fingers twitched with excitement, every cell of his body called for blood, for the child’s last breath to be wrung out by his own hand. He had to succeed, his life would have meaning, it would mean that he finished his final good deed, that he may escape the hells set aside for the sith. The bloodlust shone brightly on Qui-Gon’s face, while young Anakin just stared at him with pity.</p>
<p>Qui-Gon swallowed with anticipation, his throat burning at the gesture. As he looked at Anakin in the face he began to realize that the boy was just blankly staring at him, disinterest written across his face. Good, he wasn’t prepared for Qui-Gon’s attack.</p>
<p>“Ani, come close,” his voice barely came out as more than a whisper. At his words, the boy shuffled closer, sitting down in the chair by his bed.</p>
<p>“Closer”</p>
<p>Anakin now sat at Qui-Gon’s beside, his face mere inches from Qui-Gon’s. He leaned his head towards Qui-Gon’s, so that he may whisper in his ear. “I know-I know what you are…”</p>
<p>As the words began to sink in, Qui-Gon found the strength to wrap his hands around the boy’s neck. Squeezing, tighter and tighter, he prayed for the boy to die, for his death to be painful, so that he may feel a fraction of what Qui-Gon has felt. Let him die slowly, he begged. Let him writhe and squirm, may he claw at his throat, praying to live, only to be laughed at by the force and die. Yes, this would be his revenge, he was not the jedi he used to be, for he would enjoy this. Tears ran down the boy’s face, as he clawed at Qui-Gon’s skeletal hands. The demon’s face began to turn red, the blood vessels in his eyes beginning to burst. Gasping for air, Anakin made his final effort to escape, wiggling out of his chair, only to be dragged closer to Qui-Gon. Finally, the boy died, his body lay across Qui-gon’s lap.</p>
<p>Heaving from exertion, Qui-Gon leaned back against his pillows, pleased by a job well done. Sighing, he prepared to die, his final deed completed. “You know I almost felt bad,” called a voice.</p>
<p>It was Anakin, the eleven year old was leaning in the doorway, a smug smile graced his lips. The demon was still alive! This could not be, for he had killed him, had wrung the life from his neck, he saw him die! Frantic, Qui-Gon glanced towards the body in his lap, but there was no body. “You really never learn,” it was Anakin again.</p>
<p>“How-”</p>
<p>“How what? This is not the first time that you have seen impossible things."</p>
<p>At that, Qui-Gon sat there gaping like a fish, tears silently leaking from his remaining eye. He had lost, the boy had out maneuvered him once more. This was the end, and he would not be the victor.</p>
<p>Anakin stood there, looking at Qui-Gon, a mix of sadness and pity on his face. Of course Qui-Gon couldn’t see this, lest he think that the boy felt any remorse. Qui-Gon sat there gathering the courage to ask the question that had been haunting for the past couple of months. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Why did you do this to me, what was the reason?”</p>
<p>Anakin paused, thinking about the question, and how to answer the man. Qui-Gon was tired. He was almost dead, and he just wanted to know why, why he had to die, and so horribly at that. What could possibly be worth the betrayal, the pain?</p>
<p>“I had to condemn my first soul.”</p>
<p>Qui-Gon whipped his head at that, “why me?”</p>
<p>At that Anakin gave a half hearted shrug, he wasn’t sure if it would be worth the pain the full truth would bring. Qui-Gon could clearly see that the boy was holding back, that there was another reason for why Qui-Gon was dying. “PLEASE, I’m already dying! I just want to know the reason, WHY. WHY ME?!”</p>
<p>“It had to be you,” Anakin stared at Qui-Gon, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Qui-Gon slumped down. This was it, he had to be the demon’s first soul, his fate was inevitable. If only he had never found the boy! If only he had let the boy pickpocket him, and carry on his way. He should have left the boy to rot in the gutter, to die young, so that he might never condemn a single soul. No, this wasn’t his fault. It was all the child’s. He CHOSE to kill Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon was simply the first of his many victims, if it wasn’t him it would have been someone else. But he was a holy man, he didn’t deserve this! To be a devout follower, only to be cast to the dark was a fate worse than death.</p>
<p>“Goodbye Master Qui-Gon. I’m sorry, and thank you,” not waiting for a response, Anakin turned and left.</p>
<p>So, this was it. He was dead. Qui-Gon closed his eye once more, preparing to join the force. Only to once more be disturbed by a visitor. “Mas- Qui-Gon, what are you doing?’</p>
<p>It was Obi-Wan. Finally! Qui-Gon turned to face Obi-Wan, a smile blooming across his lips. But, he realized with dawning horror, Anakin was still close by, listening. Obi-wan sat in the chair, looking vaguely concerned. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Qui-Gon flicked his eye to peer back at Obi-Wan, “ah, yes I’m okay padawan.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan relaxed. He needed to tell the young man about the child, without being killed before. He needed to think, how would he manage? Qui-Gon glanced around the room, as though the answers to his problem would appear out of thin air. There was a figure in the corner. It stood silently, dressed in black robes with a hood over its head. It was more solid than the usual shadows. Obi-Wan was speaking, but Qui-Gon could no longer hear him. The figure lifted its head. Yellow sith eyes store back at him. It was a sith. A demon in the flesh. The sith’s horns peeked from under the hood. Black leathery wings silently lifted from behind the being. Oh, he was to be killed and dragged down personally by a sith.</p>
<p>The sith drew closer, each heavy step ringing in Qui-Gon’s head. He was going to die. The grim figure paused on the side of his bed, standing silently across Obi-Wan. His former padawan hadn’t noticed yet, he might never notice. He was perhaps knighted too early. It would do him no good to regret his life in his last moments. The sith silently drew his double bladed weapon, resting parallel to his body, it was time. A lone tear dripped from Qui-Gon’s eye. Obi-Wan stood up as the blade was brought down into Qui-Gon’s chest. A gasp left his body as the cursed blade drove through him, it burned, the weapon was pulled out. The blood that had been leaking from the wound began to pour out in rivers. The flesh that had touched the blade burned and itched, it was a legend that a sith’s blade was poisonous, it was true.</p>
<p>Qui-Gon could feel himself dying, his life slowly bleeding away into the force. He was no longer aware of what was happening, he could not see nor hear the fight that was happening between Obi-Wan and the sith. He needed to focus, he still had one last thing to tell Obi-Wan! He gathered his strength, feeling his force signature try to flee his body, he tightly wrapped the edges of his fading signature, so that he may pass on the final warning. Dragging himself back to consciousness he opened his eyes. The sith was dead, and his old padawan was clinging to his failing body. “Obi-Wan”</p>
<p>His padawan lifted his head and drew near. “Train the boy.”</p>
<p>Qui-Gon knew the boy was still near, to make sure the job was done. Grabbing at Obi-wan’s robes he drew him closer still. With one last breath he uttered one word, “Run”</p>
<p>And with his last exhale Qui-Gon died, his energy beginning to scatter as the shadows grabbed at the remnants of him, so that he may reside in the sith hells. Half of him escaped and broke into pieces, so that he may carry on in the force, while the other half was dragged down to the fiery hells. Qui-Gon Jinn was finally dead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm honestly surprised by how long this ended up being, as Qui-Gon's point of view was not in my original plan. This was surprisingly a lot of fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed it! Comments and kudos are always apperciated!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Also, apparently centipedes are venomous, which is something I didn't know. It just adds another reason for why I hate them; the main reason being because of their many legs.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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